otello's profile

It starts with a spasm in the middle of the night, slight pressure on the skull in the morning, thoughts that tempt and escape, then a hunger pain that swells up from hour to hour. He is always tugging at my skin. The extra dust bunny hiding in my dress shoes; never worn. There is always space for him on my calendar, mostly weekends. A migrain every Saturday lets me know my payment is due. He is an anxious pimp; an Oliver Twist with a modest snicker and a lazy accent. He nudges me toward anot...

Clean air from the stars and dust, color the sky with a timeless shade of blue. The world slowly spirals downward into a brown bowl; the giants of the earth gather around and watch like naked limbs in twain, while pointing toward a maker, a quiet craftsman, a reason in the universe perhaps? We should hope so. The horizon reveals the secret of her intent. I hope she has something for me, wrapped in moonlight. These hot days come to lie down in the tombs of the desert The green hands of the sa...

I.   I need you like the morning gloom of June. Cleanse me with the smoke of your pipes and the sweat of a million faces. I want to move at the speed of stand still.   You are firestorm and flood; asphalt and anorexia. You are long lanes and landslides.   Kiss me with the hiss of tide and foam. and hold me with the hot hands of the Santa Ana winds.   Consume me with the brown waves that wash over valleys filled with new vices.   II.   Am I your heir, your fortunate child?   I arrived on a whi...

The Adoration of Anima and Animus Wiseless as the future that beholds us. Light blue and hot pink are the colors that consume me. Father, how should they address me in the fashion of two genders in one soul and conflicting ambitions? I shift and sink into names and numbers that hold me to a post. Are my desires lesser than your demands? Where are they that stumble and mutter quietly in dark places with bright colors? Confusion lies next to me in my sleep, creating friction in my loins and off...

She has granted us what hell has promised, a smothering of smoke and sensation. A rainstorm of ashes from our ancestors is sent down from the sweat of her brow. Weep for us Mother, while we lie in tombs of fire. Her belly is swollen with the history of our discontent. She breathes heavily on us with each burning contraction. Her labor is intense and vexes   her to screams of sparks. The anxious child of man is stirring in the womb of a desert. Intercede for us Mother, with the birth of better...